


What Were we Talking About?

by VivWiley



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Bubble Bath, F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivWiley/pseuds/VivWiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh needs to figure out how to handle the too many things in his life.</p>
<p>Written for a Bubbleficathon prompt: <i>something that smells of coconut; optional: angsty</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	What Were we Talking About?

After 46 years of existence, Josh was willing to admit that he wasn't the world's most self-aware guy. In fact, he'd even admit it out loud to his friends.

Sam stared at him for a beat that stretched out to a good dozen beats. Before Josh could shift from embarrassment to mortified crankiness, Sam raised an eyebrow and simply said, "Yeah." 

"Dude! You really have to stop hanging out with Donna so much."

This got him both eyebrows. "First of all, Josh, you're the Chief of Staff to the President on the United States. Do you think maybe it's time for you to stop calling your colleagues ‘Dude'?"

Josh could hear himself starting to make little spluttering noises.

"And secondly, what does Donna have to do with this?"

"The eyebrow thing."

"The eyebrow thing?" Sam's face reflected a complicated range of emotions, but Josh was pretty sure both worry and amusement were in there somewhere. Sam had gotten a lot harder to read in the last couple years.

"I may have raised my eyebrow, but I think you're just so infatuated with Donna that everything reminds you of her."

"That's not true! I'm perfectly capable of separating...that is...you...what were we talking about?"

"You were explaining to me that you aren't the world's most self-aware guy."

"Oh yeah." It made sense for all of 1.4 seconds. "How'd we get there?"

A fleeting expression of tiredness crossed Sam's face. "I have no idea. But if we're through with your self-analysis, there is the small matter of the whip count, or lack thereof, on the Trade Bill."

"Yeah, that's a problem. What the hell is McLaren up to?"

"Oddly enough, Josh, I still don't know, even though it's been a whole 15 minutes since you last asked me."

"I'm beating this to death." 

"That's a distinct possibility." 

Lately it occurred to Josh that while he would never be half the Chief of Staff that Leo had been, or even what CJ had managed in the last years of the Bartlet Administration, Sam was much better at being Deputy than he had been. Somewhere along the line, Sam had grown into this phenomenal politico and member of the Santos Administration. He was grateful for it on a daily basis. On the toughest of days, he hoped that he'd given Leo even half the support that he counted on from Sam. It was one of the few things he didn't talk to Donna about.

Someone sighed. He thought it was probably him. "Go home, Sam. We really can't do anything about this..."

"For the next two weeks. Yeah, I know." That sigh was all Sam.

Josh scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Did we already cover that, too?"

"Yeah. Look, man, you need to go home, too. Promise me you'll leave in the next 15 minutes."

"Sure." But, of course, he didn't.

 

He couldn't remember ever having been this tired. He supposed maybe that week in college when he had four papers due in the same week and stayed awake for something like 100 straight hours - not counting the naps during lectures - finishing them might have been close. But that had also been, he sighed for the fiftieth time that night, twenty years ago. Great, he was old and tired. It just kept getting better.

He stared at the paper on his desk. White, he thought. White paper, black writing. That writing meant something. Or it did five hours ago. It was just possible that he was now officially Too Tired To Think. He rubbed his eyes which felt far grittier than they should have. Nope - that really hadn't made a difference. Coffee. Maybe he needed coffee.

"No, you don't need coffee." Oh great. Now he was hearing voices in his head.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "You're not hearing voices, and you don't need coffee. Although the degree to which you are talking to yourself is vaguely worrisome. What you need is to come home with me and sleep for about 18 hours." He turned his head. That hand looked familiar. He followed the line of the arm up to a face. Donna. Donna was here. That was...good.

"Hi." He had seen her smile a million times and it never ceased to astonish him.

"Hey." He tried to remember how to smile. The hint of amusement that quirked the corner of her mouth seemed to indicate he hadn't been entirely successful. 

"It's midnight, Josh. It's midnight on a Saturday. You've worked for the last 17 consecutive days and the Trade Bill isn't going to go anywhere for the next 2 weeks at least because Congress is all in their home districts for the district work period. So it's time for you to come home."

"Just a few more..." He was desperately afraid he was whining. He didn't think the Chief of Staff was supposed to whine.

She tilted her head a fraction of an inch. "Don't make me call the President."

It was the mark of exactly how tired he was that for a moment he thought she was serious and began to get cranky. "You can't do that. I don't need a nanny!"

"No, boyfriend of mine, you do not. You do however need 18 hours of sleep and probably some food in there somewhere."

"You weren't actually going to call the President, were you?"

"Of course not. I would, however, have had no compunction whatsoever about calling Sam." A moment's hesitation. "Where is Sam?"

"I sent him home..." He tried to remember; waved his hand vaguely, "a while ago."

"He made you promise to leave 15 minutes after he did, didn't he?"

Somewhere over the years he should have gotten used to the idea that she knew everything. "Uh, maybe?"

She tilted her head just a little more.

"Okay, not maybe, he did make me promise. I just sort of..."

She sighed quietly, her hand moving along his shoulder, trailing warmth, until she tangled her fingers in the hair at the base of his skull. "I know. You lost track of time. But time's up, Joshua. You're coming home."

A stray thought drifted through his mind. "Sam called you, didn't he?" It came out far less accusatory than he'd feared.

Again that smile. "Yeah. He did. It's part of his job, you know."

"Did I or did I not just say I didn't need a nanny?"

She bent down and brushed a kiss over his cheek. "This isn't about nannies. It's about friends taking care of each other. About me taking care of you."

From somewhere far away, he heard his voice saying, "I don't need you take care of me." Oh, that wasn't a good tone.

"I really think you do." There were moments that she annoyed him like no other living person.

"I'm the Chief of Staff of the President of the United States, Donna. A grown-up. I don't need you showing up in my office and telling me when I need to go home. I have things I need to do. Materials to prepare for the President. Things I need to do..." He trailed off, vaguely aware that he was ranting, and also because some part of his brain had just shut down his access to words.

She narrowed her eyes, clearly weighing exactly what sort of madman she was dealing with. It just pissed him off. Unfortunately, the fresh surge of anger also gave him new energy.

"Don't narrow your eyes at me like that, Donna. I know what I'm doing and I really don't need you to nanny me. I'm fine. Yeah, I'm a little tired, but I have..."

"Yes, I know. You have things to do." She stepped back from him, and he instantly missed her nearness. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could hear a voice cautioning that he was doing something stupid. 

"Look," he wasn't even sure what he was going to say, just that he knew he needed to respond to that look in her eyes, "I have to finish this position memo. Then I'll come home. Really."

"When was the last time you were home for more than a couple hours to nap a little and grab more clothes to bring to the office for yet another all nighter?"

He paused; this seemed like a trick question. And, he honestly couldn't remember. That was probably a bad thing. Probably a particularly bad thing if you thought about the fact that home had Donna in their bed. "Uh...a while?"

"Ten days, Josh." Her voice softened a little. "I miss you. I know you're really busy, but I feel like we don't see each other much and I've got some travel coming up with the First Lady's first visit to Europe."

"I'll be home in just a little while, Donna. Promise."

Something shifted on her face. The minutest deepening of a line near her mouth. She took another step back. "Okay." Another step, and she was turning and leaving, apparently without planning to say anything else.

"Donna!" But she was walking out of his office.

Later, as he was drifting off on the couch in his office - because it really didn't make any sense to go home for just 2 hours - it occurred to him that he might have screwed something up tonight, but he was asleep before he could remember exactly what it was.

The next three weeks were brutal. Or simply as brutal as the preceding 48 weeks had been. The Trade Bill still wasn't going anywhere, and then the Education Bill stalled out in committee. He lost track of time again. The days blurred into endless staff meetings, strategy discussions with President Santos, Sam and the Congressional Liaison staff, and lots and lots of stale coffee. He thought that maybe he'd gone home a time or two. It seemed probable. He also thought that Donna was worried about him. Her voice on the other end of the phone seemed...off.

It occurred to him that he hadn't seen Donna in several days. The last time he'd woken up in their bed it had seemed frighteningly and unfamiliarly empty. Had they been fighting? No, that didn't seem right. Oh yeah, she was in Brussels with the First Lady. Or Germany. Or, somewhere that wasn't here. He realized that he had been trying to ignore the vague ache in his gut when she was gone.

Around 10 pm on yet another Saturday, he was staring at the third memo from the Congressional Liaison Office that failed to make any sense and wondering exactly what it was that Leo would do in this situation. How had he managed this? How he always managed to seem calm and centered and ready to handle anything? 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice suggested that even Leo had his off days, but Josh was damned if he could remember any.

He was suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of Jed Bartlett standing only a few feet from where he was now, telling Josh that he was the future, that the President and Leo were the past. What was he supposed to do with that? How was he supposed to carry the weight of those expectations? They had inherited a _war_ for God's sake. They had entered this Presidency without a Vice President. They had entered this Presidency without Leo. This wasn't really what he'd planned on. 

Of course, if he were going to open this particular closet of Nightmares He Usually Tried to Ignore, he would have to admit that he'd never really planned much past the Bartlet Administration. The Santos Campaign had been a little bit of an accident. Meeting the right guy at exactly the wrong moment and taking that wild improbable ride to the top. Then the Transition and the first 100 Days and there were days, even looking at the carefully crafted - okay, hastily drafted and trampled by too many committee meetings - Santos Administration Strategic Plan, that he still had no idea what he was doing, or where he was trying to go.

For a moment he let his head slump to the desk, resting on hands that had held about 16 too many memos that day. He wished, not for the first time in his life, that Donna would float through the door and take him away from all this. He wished, not for the first time that week, that she wasn't in Luxemburg, or Germany, or wherever the hell she was.

Ah hell, he'd go home anyway. If nothing else, when she came back, he could point out to her that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Of getting himself home. He carefully ignored the fact that it was nearly 10 pm. On a Saturday. He carefully ignored the fact that he wasn't entirely sure how long it had been since he last saw her. He'd known this first year, the first couple of years were going to be hard, and some days he thought they had the worst timing in the universe - starting a relationship at the same time they were trying to learn how to run the country. He hadn't really counted on it being quite this hard.

He almost fell asleep on the ride home. It was mostly a good thing that the Secret Service drove him almost everywhere these days. He tried to remember if there was going to be any food in the refrigerator when he got there. Decided it didn't really matter. Maybe he'd just sleep until Monday, or whenever Donna got back. Because she was coming back. She had to come back.

The first surprise was the light under his...their door. He thought he heard faint music - a sound confirmed when he opened the door. But why did their place smell faintly of coconut? Last time he'd checked they were still in DC not the tropics.

"Donna!"

"Don't shout!"

It brought him up short. That sudden deja vu. "We've done this before."

"Yes, but without noticeable effect, apparently." 

"It smells like a Hawaiian brothel in here."

"Honest to God, Josh, have you ever been in a Hawaiian brothel?" Her voice was just a tad too casual, the gleam in her eye a little too intent. He had the sense of a pit opening up at his feet. It was a familiar feeling.

"Well, not as such. No." Okay, back away from the pit slowly. Wasn't there something else he should be commenting on? What were they talking about again?

"Not as _such_? What does that mean, exactly?"

"Well, okay, I've never actually been in a Hawaiian brothel." He didn't trust that smile of hers at all.

"But you've been in _other_ kinds of brothels?"

"NO! I mean...how...what... why...?"

"You missed 'when'," she pointed out maliciously.

"What were we talking about...?" He seemed to be asking that a lot these days. Another thought kicked in, and he was powerless to stop the grin. "Hey! You're home!" He followed that with a very sound kiss. Then another, just to make sure the first one took.

Her smile was both infinitely more and less dangerous when they broke apart. "Yeah, I'm home. We finished our trip early. I think Helen missed the President."

He stroked his fingers along her cheekbone. The texture of her skin never failed to mesmerize him, calm him. "How come you get to call her Helen, and I have to call my boss 'Mr. President'?"

Pure mischief now. "It's a girl thing, Josh, you wouldn't understand." 

He decided to let it go. "I don't care. You're home." Another kiss seemed to be called for. This time he let the pure sensation of holding her just wash over him. Then his hands got restless, stroking up the curving line of her back and then down over the sweet lines of her ass. Pulling her in hard against his body. She made that tiny whimpering sound in the back of her throat that always turned him to jelly.

He felt her pull back slightly. "Hey. Where are you going?"

Her hand caressed the side of his face, before dropping to take his hand. "We're going to the bathroom."

"Why?"

She just shook her head slightly. "Trust me, Josh. Just come with me."

"Always." He wasn't even sure what part of that he was responding to.

The smell of coconut seemed to be stronger in their bathroom, which also seemed steamier than he'd expected. 

"What's going on?"

"So many questions," her hands busy removing his clothing, "Just relax, and let me do this."

"You know I'll let you do just about anything to me." Suddenly he was so tired that even leering seemed like too much work.

She'd finished stripping him down, and began pushing him toward the large tub she'd had installed a few months ago. "Hey - there's water already in there."

Behind him, he swore he could _hear_ her rolling her eyes, along with an odd rustling he couldn't quite place. "Yeah. Get in."

"How'd you know when I'd be home? How'd you know I'd want a bath? Do I want a bath?" Damn. Now he was sure his was on the verge of whining.

Cool hands smoothing across his back, pushing just a little. "You want a bath because I'm going to get in it with you."

Oh. Naked Donna. Naked wet Donna. Maybe this day was looking up.

He stepped into the water. Just a little hotter than he liked it, but he sank into the tropically scented bubbles with a sigh. 

"Scoot forward." Just the barest glimpse of that alabaster skin, and then 20 miles of legs and arms were wrapping around him, and he leaned back - starting to relax for the first time in what felt like 7 years.

"Oh god."

A small giggle. "Nope, just me."

Now her hands were starting to sweep across his chest. Just gentle touches, soothing really. Another dozen muscles began to slowly unknot. He rested his head on her shoulder. A shudder ran through him.

She waited just long enough for him to think maybe she hadn't noticed. He should have known better. "Talk to me." A request more than a command.

"I'm tired."

She waited through his struggle to find the words. "And I'm afraid."

"Of what?" Her voice nothing more than a murmur.

"Everything - failing Leo, failing the President. Hell, failing both Presidents - Bartlet and Santos."

Somehow she knew to keep silent. To just wait him out.

"Of failing you - of failing us, this thing we're building. There's so much to do. So many things to juggle. I know I'm going to drop something."

"That's a lot of fear, Josh." There was no judgment in her tone. She shifted a little, wrapping one arm firmly around his chest. The other lifted a washcloth from somewhere and began to gently rub away the day's grime and weariness.

"Let's start with us. You're not going to fail us. I know what happened to Leo's marriage. I know what this life can do to a person, to a relationship. But we're both here. And if I can work for you for 7 years and still love you, I think I can weather another 7 years of this." She stopped for a moment. He wished in that moment that he could see her eyes.

A deep breath, and when she continued, her voice was just a little rough. "I'm worried about how much I'm gone. It's not like my schedule is the world's sanest. Weeks go by when we barely see each other. Days go by without seeing each other at all. There are moments I wonder what we'll do when this crazy ride is all over. But you know what? I know we can do this. It's not logical. But I know, and by now you know ought to know to trust my instincts."

"God, Donna, you know I do. There are days when I think you're the only constant..." He trailed off, lost in another thicket of worry. "But I don't want to make you feel like you have to try to hold me together. That shouldn't be your responsibility." 

That tiny snort he'd always secretly found strangely sexy. "You know I've been holding you together for a long time. It's just taken you a while to notice. And, in case you haven't figured it out, if it really bothered me, I would have left before we finished the first Bartlet for America campaign."

"You make me sound pretty pathetic."

"Well maybe a little," but he could hear the teasing undercurrent.

"Hey!" A quick splash, and he felt her jerking back from him. Then she settled her arms more firmly about him. "You know," she said conversationally, "you're pretty much at my mercy here." 

He thought about it; it sounded surprisingly attractive. He made a vague humming sound that he figured she'd interpret correctly, even if he wasn't entirely sure he knew what he meant himself.

They were quiet for a long while, their breathing evening out and slowing, until he was lost somewhere in the hypnotic synchronization of their breaths. As the water started to cool, he felt her stir a little. His voice, when he spoke was almost unrecognizable. Apparently a group of frogs had decided to colonize his throat. "Time to get out?"

"Yeah. Hold on a minute." She rose, and he slumped forward, mourning the fact that he was too tired to watch her rise - Venus like - from the foam and water. Then she was lifting him up and toweling him off. Competent, kind hands. 

"When are you going to get tired of rescuing me from myself?" The question tumbled out before he could stop himself. 

"I don't know." He stopped breathing for a moment. It wasn't the answer he'd hoped for. But he had always counted on Donna to be honest. 

She continued. "But I don't think it's anytime soon." A gentle kiss to his temple. Another lingering across his lips. He pulled her close and rested his face against her neck, breathing in her scent, overlaid with the faintest hint of coconut. 

"Did I ever tell you I don't like the smell of coconut?"

"You didn't complain about it in Hawaii."

"Well, I was getting to rub all that suntan lotion into your skin. It didn't see polite to complain."

She almost let him get away with the diversion. "Josh, I know you're tired. I know you're dealing with more than any mere mortal can really successfully cope with." Her fingers pulled through his hair, tenderly massaging his scalp. "Shut up," she added as he started to protest her assertion that he couldn't cope with his own job. "Being the Chief of Staff is an impossible assignment. Everyone does it to the best of his or her ability, but there is a terrible cost.

"You're doing great things. You've got a fabulous deputy. You're going to keep doing great things. But right now, you need to come to bed with me, and let me make love to you, and then you need to sleep. In the morning, I'll make you breakfast, and we'll talk about the next crisis, and the one that is going to come after that."

She fitted her hands around his face. "And then next week, after the First Lady and I roll out her Reading to Win initiative, and I'm so tired that I can barely stand, you're going to remember to come home on time, and order me dinner and rub my feet until I fall asleep on the couch.

"This isn't a one way street, Josh." Her thumb stroked along his jaw line. "We are there for each other. You hold me together too, you know, in a truly strange and occasionally frightening way. We're going to figure all this out - you, me, us, our jobs, the country. But first: bed."

It was languorous and slow - a gentle entwining of their bodies. Quiet gasps punctuating roving lips and exploring hands. Her skin hot silk under his fingers. He hated that he had to resort to clichés in describing her body - alabaster, silk, velvety. Someday, when they both retired, he would learn whole new languages so he'd have better words to tell her how she made him feel. He pulled her closer, thrusting deeper, sliding against her, with her, closer and closer until his release suddenly was upon him and washing over him. She held him as he tumbled down the precipice, into the oblivion waiting for him.

The morning sun woke him for the first time in two years. He rolled over and found her reading a briefing paper. She smiled at him and brushed his hair back from his forehead. He waited for her to say something, but she just smiled at him again, and turned back to her paper. He scooted closer and put his arm over her thighs. She rested a hand on his shoulder, slow circles smoothing over his skin. Pulling himself in tight to her body, he drifted back to sleep. 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, I just borrowed them and dunked them in water a bit. I hope they didn't shrink or wrinkle irrevocably.  
> Author's Notes: My first attempt at writing in the WW universe. Many thanks to Angstville for beta and support. As always.


End file.
